


Proper

by violetclarity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-03-25 09:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13831704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetclarity/pseuds/violetclarity
Summary: Draco sighs. “What kind of absolute twit has the chance to have sex with the Chosen One and can’t go through with it?"In which Draco studies with Gryffindors, learns a new spell, and navigates the difficulty of being in a not-so-casual secret relationship with his childhood nemesis.





	Proper

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the mods for running this fest - I’m so excited to participate and to see all the other entries :D Huge thank-yous to Sherry and Jeremy for beta reading - you guys rock! I loved my prompt, so I hope you enjoy what I’ve done with it.
> 
> There is a very short part of this fic that could be interpreted as dub-con - if you have any concerns, please see the endnotes for a description of what happens, or feel free to contact me with questions.

Draco has learned not to let his mind wander in these moments. If he doesn’t stay focused, doesn’t make a conscious effort - at least until he is too distracted to think - to keep himself grounded in the fact that _Harry wants him_ , he runs the risk of spinning out into an unpleasant chain of thoughts: rude reminders from his subconscious that Harry will never _really_ want him, that this is just a trick, that it’s all in Draco’s head. Anxiety, the Muggle therapist he saw over the summer had called it, and though overall Draco found that quite useless - hard to explain the trauma of _Crucio_ or the permanency of the Dark Mark when you can’t mention magic - he appreciated having a word for this thing that happened sometimes in his head. Appreciated knowing that it wasn’t just weakness, as his father had often taunted.

Right now, though, Draco is not worried about his mind wandering. Harry’s plush lips are wrapped around his cock, his tongue hidden from Draco’s view but working busily against his shaft as Harry sucks, and sucks, and _sucks_. He’s watching Draco from behind his glasses, gaze steadily darkening as Draco digs his fingers into his own thighs and bucks his hips upward.

“Fuck, you look so good,” Draco says, and Harry, if possible, sucks even harder. It makes Draco moan, loudly and against his will, and he’s _so so thankful_ that the Gryffindor Eight Years are all involved in various sexual relationships and it’s easy for Harry to ask for their dorm to himself for an hour or two without arousing too much suspicion.

“Oh, oh, _Harry_ ,” Draco groans, lifting a leg to throw it over Harry’s shoulder, trying to push further into his amazing mouth. Harry makes a hungry sound in response, lips stretched around the base of Draco’s cock, and he feels his orgasm begin to rush through him. “Coming, Harry, coming,” he cries, and Harry pulls off, stroking Draco as he comes, stripes of it landing on Harry’s lips and chin. Harry Vanishes it wordlessly and crawls up over Draco, capturing his mouth without hesitation.

“Let me do you,” Draco whispers, and Harry pulls away to let out a shaky laugh.

“Won’t take long,” he says. “I was thinking I might just...” he demonstrates by lowering his weight onto Draco, settling his hot erection into the hollow of Draco’s hip and giving a gentle thrust.

“Fuck, yes,” Draco says, using one hand to guide Harry’s chin back to kiss him and the other to squeeze Harry’s arse, enjoying the flex of muscle as Harry thrusts forward. They kiss messily as Harry moves against Draco’s body, lasting only a few minutes before he’s stopping and trembling as he comes between them.

“Oh god, Draco,” he says, and Draco’s chest flushes hot at the warmth in Harry’s voice. “That was so good.”

Draco smiles, running his fingers through Harry’s sweat-damp curls - it’s alright to touch them after sex, but not during, Harry had requested nervously the first time they moved things to a bed - and presses a kiss to Harry’s jaw. “It was,” he agrees. Almost as if it knows they are done, his wand starts to vibrate and ring from the pile of clothes on the floor, and Draco sighs. “I’ve that meeting with Flitwick in twenty minutes,” he says ruefully. “And your roommates will be beating down the door soon too.”

Harry makes a face, but rolls off of him and out of the bed with ease. Draco stands, retrieves his wand, and casts several cleaning and deodorizing spells over himself before he begins to pull back on his clothes. He can feel Harry’s gaze on his back as he redresses too with slightly less care, and can’t help but preen. Facts help him, he’s learned. The way that Harry stares at his arse mere minutes after Draco has made him come is evidence towards him being more than a warm, convenient body in Harry’s bed. Harry is at least interested in Draco, specifically, in a sexual manner. It’s the very least he could hope for, and also much more than he deserves.

“I’ll see you later?” Harry asks, as Draco’s tie knots itself and he picks up his school bag.

“Yes,” Draco says, and waits for the cracked-egg feeling of Harry’s Disillusionment charm settling over his head before he opens the door to walk down the staircase.

\--

Draco has never been to Flitwick’s quarters before. He’s never been inside any professors’ quarters, except Snape’s. By the time his classmates were starting to pick their specialties, helping out their professors with more complicated projects, Draco was putting most of his time into extracurricular assignments for the Dark Lord. One of the many consequences of his actions was the nosedive his marks had taken since midway through fifth year.

But Draco has always been smart, and enjoyed school. Not just getting to live in a huge castle with all of his best friends, and being popular and good at Quidditch, but sitting in class and listening to a teacher explain a concept they loved. Claiming a good spot in the library and working through his assignments. Understanding why that potion needed those ingredients, or the logic behind a complicated spell. It was part of why he had fought his mother so adamantly to return to Hogwarts – she hadn’t wanted him to, preferring to lie low until the Malfoys’ involvement in the war blew over, just like she and Father had done the last time.

Draco refused. It was just as likely that in a few years, public opinion of their family would be even worse, and he would be several years older with no skills and no degree. The Malfoy coffers had not been completely drained by the war – hard for the Ministry to drain vaults they couldn’t find, much to their consternation – but there was no way of knowing what might happen in the future. Draco was tired of his life being outside of his control. He needed to come back to school, to show that he was owning up and moving on, and even if the year was a disaster, by May he would have his degree and be marginally more hireable.

Still, it has been a few years since Draco has garnered positive attention from his teachers, he reflects, as Flitwick ushers him through the door at the back of the Charms classroom and into his office. It is sparsely furnished, with several large diagrams covering an entire wall. Flitwick sits behind his desk, Draco on the chair across from him. With a wave of his wand, the professor summons two teacups, their tea bags flying out of a tin on the desk and swan-diving into the porcelain. He casts an _Aguamenti_ variation which fills them with boiling water. The scent of peppermint hits Draco’s nose, and he inhales deeply.

“My favorite,” Flitwick explains, “but I can get you something else if you prefer?”

Draco shakes his head. “I like peppermint.” He nods towards the cups. “That spell, for the water – I’ve never seen it before.”

Flitwick gives a pleased flick of his wand, gold sparks flying, before he tucks it back into his sleeve. “My own invention. If we can cast Heating Charms and _Aguamenti_ , one should think we would be able to produce boiling water, hm?”

“Quite.” Draco takes a sip of his tea. It is perfectly steeped.

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t work for everyone. It requires a level of control that some just don’t have with their wand work. My natural _Aguamenti_ is a very consistent temperature, as are my Heating Charms. When I combine the two, I can produce extremely consistent results. Someone with a less consistent _Aguamenti_ temperature, or Heating Charm strength, could find that they produce water that was dangerously hot, a dangerously strong jet, or even just steam.”

“That’s fascinating,” Draco says, and he means it. He wonders if he would be able to cast it. His Heating Charms are very consistent – a product of growing up in the drafty Manor and even draftier Slytherin quarters – but his _Aguamenti_ force sometimes varies, when he is tired or not paying attention.

Flitwick smiles. “I do think so.” He sips his on tea and places his cup back down, precariously close to the edge of the desk, then pulls a parchment from the bottom of a precarious pile. Draco recognizes his own handwriting as Flitwick unrolls it across his desk. “I wanted to discuss your recent essay on the properties of Weather Charms, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco’s heart sinks. He had strayed from the original assignment, and written an extra 10 inches, getting too excited about the prompt and running out of time to revise and rewrite before the due date.

“I found your hypothesis on the use of precipitation in enclosed areas particularly astute,” Flitwick continues. “There’s actually been preliminary research that supports your conclusion. It hasn’t been published yet, but I was sent a copy of the paper to peer review, if you’d like to take a look.”

It takes a moment for Flitwick’s words to sink in - the professor had _liked_ Draco’s tangent about the possibilities of using rain charms in greenhouses? - and when it does, he stumbles over his words. “Y-yes - I’d love that.”

Flitwick nods and writes himself a note. “I’ll make you a copy. Your work all year has really been outstanding, Mr. Malfoy. I didn’t know you had such an interest in Charms.”

Draco ducks his head. “I believe I may have underestimated their usefulness, before. But Charms are... a nice change. From what I had been doing.”

Flitwick nods, and lets Draco take a sip of tea before he speaks. “I’ve been doing some work myself, on locator charms - range, restriction, specificity, and the like. As you know, Headmistress McGonagall wanted the professors to give you eighth years opportunities for more in-depth coursework, since this is an extra year for some of you.”

Draco knows. Granger is doing research projects in both Arithmancy and Muggle Studies, and seems to enjoy talking about them loudly with Weasley despite his lack of knowledge in either of those areas. Pansy played on Slughorn’s House sympathies to get him to sponsor an independent project where she works on developing better sun protection potions, and Harry is helping McGonagall herself with an overhaul of the entire Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum. When the Headmistress had announced the initiative in the eighth year meeting at the start of fall term, Draco had felt a momentary spike of excitement before reality set in. None of the Hogwarts professors would be asking him to do research with them - he’d be lucky if they didn’t fail him just because of his behavior the past few years. But now…

“Yes?” Draco says, unwilling to reveal the hopeful bubbles that are suddenly knocking against the back of his teeth.

“I was wondering if you would like to join me on my research,” Professor Flitwick asks. “We haven’t done much with locator charms yet in class, but I can give you a primer to read that will get you mostly caught up. The part I’m more interested in is the theory behind it, and I’ve a hunch that’s where your talents will be helpful, Mr. Malfoy. Are you interested?”

Draco has a feeling he looks a bit like a fish as he tries to answer Flitwick’s question. “Yes - of course! Thank you. That research sounds very interesting.”

Flitwick smiles. “Wonderful. I’m excited you’ll be joining the team.” He takes his wand out again and summons a thick stack of parchment. “We meet on Mondays and Wednesdays, from half-past four until six. There’s that primer I mentioned for you to read before your first session. And if you can come by half an hour early on Monday, I’ll brief you on what we’re currently working on.”

Draco tucks the packet into his bag. “I’ll see you on Monday, Professor.”

\--

Harry asked Draco to study with him in the library tonight, ostensibly because he missed a Potions class and needs to borrow Draco’s notes on the five necessary components of mood-altering potions. When Draco arrives, however, dropping his bag on the table and sliding into the chair next to Harry, Harry grabs his hand under the table and squeezes.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispers, and Draco’s chest gets a little warm. “This essay is complete bollocks.”

Draco frowns at him. “Is all I’m good for correcting your subpar schoolwork? I thought that was Granger’s job.”

Harry grins, pulling his hand away but leaning in to speak into Draco’s ear. “You’re good for a lot more than that, and you know it,” he says, then stretches, and it’s not like Draco isn’t going to watch the way his shirt pulls over his shoulders while he does that, now is it? “See something you like?” he asks teasingly, and Draco rolls his eyes.

“You wish,” he says, and is interrupted by Weasley dropping a large stack of books onto the table and frowning at Draco and Harry.

“Not this again,” he grouses, and Granger lightly slaps his shoulder while she pulls out the last remaining chair.

“We’re trying to be nice to Malfoy now, remember?” she tells him. “He’s reformed.”

“I know,” Weasley says, gesturing between Draco and Harry, “but they’re doing that flirting thing again.”

Granger regards them both, hums, and then turns to her work.

Harry shakes his head and follows suit, and Weasley moans a little as he cracks his Transfiguration textbook. Draco takes a moment to watch the three heroes of the wizarding world before he opens his bag and pulls out his Potions folder, silently sliding his notes from the day before over to Harry.

Draco’s written two more paragraphs of his Transfiguration homework - “defend Animagus registration, citing at least two Wizengamot cases from the past century” - when Weasley knocks his ink out onto his parchment and curses loudly before Vanishing it. Several nearby students look up at the noise, but even Madam Pince doesn’t dare shush a war hero. Even after Weasley gets back to work, Draco feels like the entire library is staring at them. He wonders if what’s caught their attention is Harry, Granger, and Weasley, or the fact that Draco is sitting with them. The three Gryffindors move through the school in a cloud of awe; no one even looks annoyed about Weasley swearing in the library. Draco wonders, too, what Weasley and Granger think of his presence at their table - Harry’s not told anyone they’re involved, per the conversation they had the first time they kissed, but do his two best friends think it odd that their years-long enmity has turned to friendship?

Draco’s already getting flack from the younger years about it; he’s loathe to imagine what might happen when their relationship goes public. _If_ , he reminds himself firmly, _if_ it goes public. _If he doesn’t get tired of you first_ , he thinks. It’s not that he doesn’t think Harry likes him - they spend enough time together not shagging that Draco can admit they may be friends. He doesn’t imagine Harry would invite him to study in the library if he didn’t find Draco’s company at least tolerable; Draco would still have sex with him even if Harry never acknowledged him in public, although Harry would probably feel bad about it. It’s just that he doesn’t know if their maybe-friendship could survive the end of their physical relationship, and he recognizes that Harry’s options will get a lot more numerous once they graduate. At Hogwarts, where no one is out and hormones are running high, even your former enemy will do for fumbling in darkened alcoves and rushed encounters in between classes. But after that…

He’s broken from his musing by Harry nudging him with his shoulder. “I’m done. You want to get out of here?”

“Sure.”

They’re barely out of the library before Harry’s hand is on his lower back, breath warm against Draco’s neck. He shivers. “Do you want to fool around before bed?”

“Merlin, yes.”

Harry guides him down one staircase and through two corridors before he’s lifting a tapestry and following Draco through it, dropping his school bag before he cups Draco’s face in his hands and kisses him. Draco shrugs off his bag and returns the kiss, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and tugging him in close. He’s surprised - pleasantly so - to feel Harry’s erection against his thigh.

“You’re already hard,” he murmurs, and Harry ducks his head, but Draco lifts his chin back up to kiss him again. “It’s hot,” he tells him, and Harry groans into his mouth, thrusting against him with more purpose.

“You’re hot,” he says, and Draco snorts, then flushes.

“You’re ridiculous,” he mumbles, reaching between them to yank Harry’s shirt out of his trousers. He runs a palm over Harry’s toned stomach, pushing his shirt up, and lets out a little sigh at the feeling of Harry’s muscles clenching in response to his touch. “But also hot,” he mutters, and Harry snickers, leaning in to kiss at his neck. Draco’s body is reacting as it always does to Harry’s presence, his warmth and his smell, and when Harry trails a hand down to his groin Draco thrusts against him, his cock filling quickly.

“Can I wank you off?” Harry asks, and Draco moans and nods.

“Uh -- _please_. Can I do you?”

“Yes,” Harry says, and Draco pulls open his fly, moaning along with Harry when his hand finds its way to Harry’s prick. He looks down as he strokes it, admiring the way the head looks, red and leaking, as it disappears into his fist over and over.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry says, emphatically, and quickly opens Draco’s trousers, wrapping his calloused hand around Draco’s aching cock and starting to tug. Their foreheads are pressed together, watching the movement of their hands in the small space between their bodies, just enough light filtering through the tapestry to be able to differentiate between Draco’s pale skin and Harry’s light brown. Draco brings his other hand into play, using his thumb to spread around the precome that is leaking out of Harry’s slit while he rolls Harry’s balls in his other palm. Harry groans, hoarse and low, and his hand slows on Draco’s prick as he thrusts roughly into Draco’s grip and comes all over his wrist.

Harry whispers a cleaning charm and then kisses Draco, pressing him up against the wall and deepening the kiss immediately. Draco clutches at Harry’s sides as Harry begins to stroke him again in earnest, slipping a thigh between Draco’s legs and grinding up towards him.

“Is this good?” he asks, still slightly out of breath, and Draco whimpers.

“Yes, yes, fuck - Harry!” he cries, pulling Harry in by the back of his neck for a kiss, partially because he loves the way Harry tastes and partially to keep himself from doing anything embarrassing, like sobbing, or shouting. A few more strokes and he’s coming between them, moaning into Harry’s mouth, a distant part of his brain hoping that no one is walking through this corridor and hearing them having a quickie in an alcove.

He breaks the kiss to catch his breath, leaning his head back against the wall as Harry casts another cleaning charm, then starts to refasten his clothing. Draco does the same, tightening his tie and picking up his bag before he looks over at Harry. He looks fond, green eyes managing to sparkle even in the nonexistent alcove lighting, and Draco feels himself twisted up, torn, wanting to be annoyed that he just got off behind a _tapestry_ with an idiotic Gryffindor, but too loose from his orgasm and the expression on Harry’s face to maintain the feeling.

“Next time I expect you to take me to bed,” he says, with a little sniff for emphasis.

“Oh, do you?” Harry asks. He checks that the coast is clear, then gestures Draco out ahead of him, falling into step beside him as they start off down the corridor. “And what do you propose I do to you in bed?” His voice is deep and low, and somehow _right there_ against his ear even though they are walking.

Draco shivers. He likes this feeling, when Harry’s focus is all on him, like there’s no reason why it shouldn’t be. It makes him nervous, too, though, that anyone could see, that someone might one day suss out why it is that Harry watches him like this, or that someday it will be someone else who catches Harry’s attention. Draco isn’t stupid enough to think he’ll get to keep Harry - he prides his new post-war self on being a realist - but he doesn’t want to be forgotten.

“You could fuck me,” he says, after a probably-too-long pause in the conversation, and he feels Harry skid to a stop next to him. He has to turn around to face him, and finds Harry facing him with a rather blank expression.

“Harry?”

“Are you serious?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

The question hangs in the air, and Draco feels cold all over, too visible, too _exposed_. “Yes,” he says. “I want you to be my first.”

Harry goes a bit red, then closes the few steps between them and kisses Draco once, on the mouth, very hard. “Alright,” he says, his voice mellow but controlled. “But I -- I want to do it right, okay? When we know we have the room, and time, and everything.”

“Okay,” Draco says, and ducks away before Harry can kiss him again. He tilts his head towards their surroundings. “We can talk about all that. Just-- not here.”

“Right,” Harry says. “Not here.” 

\--

Draco’s friends know he’s fucking Potter, by which he means, they’ve surmised he’s fucking someone and they like to joke that it’s Potter, but only Pansy knows it’s true, because she’s been his best friend since they were five and also because she caught them snogging in the Restricted Section of the library.

“Harry and I are going to have sex.”

It’s because of Draco’s discomfort that they don’t often discuss it, so he can’t really blame Pansy for spitting her tea latte all over him when he brings it up on a walk through Hogsmeade.

“Shite, Draco, warn a girl,” Pansy says, casting a crackling cleaning charm on his jumper. “Aren’t you already?”

“Well, yes, but-- proper sex.”

“What’s improper about what you’re doing now? Aside from the fact that he’s a Gryffindor, and a boy, and you aren’t married?”

Draco flushes. “Not-- you know what I mean.” He looks at her, hoping she will read his mind: she doesn’t, so he whispers. “He’s going to fuck me.”

“Ah.” She takes a sip of her drink. “I think everything else you’ve been doing counts as proper sex too, you know.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “That’s just a bit of fun. This is serious.”

Pansy shrugs. “As long as you’re naked and there’s orgasms, I think it counts.” She laughs when Draco splutters at her. “What? I can’t say orgasms?”

“We’re _outside_ ,” he hisses.

“If you’re that concerned about it, perhaps you should have cast a silencing charm before you started talking about your sordid affair with Our Saviour,” Pansy mocks. She leans into Draco, knocking their shoulders together. “It’ll be fine, Draco. Plenty of other gay boys have done it. You’re just another in a long line of randy homosexuals.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” Draco mutters. Pansy cackles.

\--

Harry is _good_ at this, Draco thinks. He knows Harry’s never gone past heated kissing with anyone else - they talked about it - but the way he kisses Draco, touches Draco, you’d never know. Sometimes Draco feels like he’s forgotten what to do with his hands, his limbs; like he was made just to be kissed by Harry Potter.

This is one of those times. 

Draco is laid back in Harry’s bed, mapping out Harry’s back as Harry works his way down the buttons on Draco’s own. They’ve been kissing for what feels like hours - as Harry walked him up the stairs to the eighth year dorm, as they made their way to Harry’s four-poster, as Harry pressed him slowly down and divested himself of his own shirt before starting on Draco’s. As soon as he gets all the buttons undone he breaks away to kiss down Draco’s chest, running cool hands down his sides and making Draco shiver.

Draco slides his hands up to Harry’s shoulders as he finishes his journey down Draco’s chest, using his tongue to tease along the top of Draco’s trousers before mouthing over his growing erection.

Draco’s hips stutter upwards towards the warmth, and he curses. “Merlin, Harry, _fuck_.” There is muffled laughter, and then Harry is capturing his lips again, letting Draco push him off and onto his back. He waits for Draco to settle over him, then scoots back into the middle of his bed, moaning happily when Draco cups his cheeks and leans in. He settles his weight on top of Harry’s groin, knees splayed on either side of Harry’s hips, and smiles when Harry immediately bucks up into him. He grinds down, licking into Harry’s mouth and humming happily when Harry responds eagerly. His hands are now tangled in Draco’s hair, not quite pulling but definitely _there_. Draco shifts forward on Harry’s lap until Harry’s hard prick is rubbing up against his arse as they rock together, gratified when Harry groans and moves one hand to Draco’s hips, guiding them down hard into his own.

He doesn’t seem inclined to do anything else, so Draco breaks the kiss. “Do you want me to take my trousers off?” he asks, breath ragged, and Harry nods.

“Yeah,” he says, looking slightly dazed. Draco lifts up on his knees and rolls off of Harry for a moment, undoing his trousers and kicking them off, while Harry does the same. He rolls back on top of Harry, laying half on top of him, and shivers at the way their chests and legs press together, pricks now separated only by the thin material of their pants. Draco holds himself propped on one elbow, watching Harry’s eyes flutter shut behind his glasses as Draco strokes him through his pants. There’s a wet spot at the front of them, and Draco rubs at the tip of Harry’s prick through it, loving the way Harry’s mouth drops open, his lips dark and full.

He keeps it up for a few minutes, alternating between long strokes and small circles, cataloging the way Harry reacts even through the barrier of fabric, before Harry reaches down and grabs his wrist.

“Wait,” he says. “I’m too close. If you still want me to…”

“Yes,” Draco says. “I do.”

It’s suddenly quiet, as Harry gently rolls Draco onto his back, sliding his pants down his hips and all the way off his legs before he drops them onto the floor. He whispers a spell, and the small jar of lube he’d placed next to the pillows, which Draco had never really forgot about, flies into his hand. Harry opens it, the pop of the cork loud in the small space inside the bed hangings. He scoops some out with two fingers, then looks up at Draco.

Draco spreads his legs, bending his knees to expose himself to Harry. He feels small and clumsy as Harry moves closer to him, settling back on his knees as he gently rubs the lube across Draco’s hole. It’s cold, and foreign, and wet; he isn’t used to dampness on that part of his body. Harry is watching the movement of his fingers, eyes dark. “Okay?” he asks quietly.

Draco shifts, trying to position himself to his best advantage but feeling ridiculous. “Yes, fine,” he says. Harry strokes up and down across his crease a few times, almost up to his balls, which would feel nice except for the gloopy lube coating his fingers.

“Ready?” he asks.

The angle is still awkward. Draco grabs a pillow from under his head and stuffs it under his hips. “Better?”

“Yeah. Can I…?” Harry rubs across Draco’s hole again, with a bit more pressure.

“Go ahead.”

Harry lets out a shaky exhale. He presses slowly in. Draco breathes deep, forcing his body to relax. Harry pulls his finger out, then back in. It feels even weirder the second time. And the third.

“Good?” he asks.

“Yes...” Draco shifts his hips up, looking down to Harry. He’s mortified to notice that his cock has gone soft, and reaches down to pump it, hoping Harry hasn’t noticed. “Maybe - maybe try a bit faster?”

Harry obediently speeds up. Draco strokes his cock in time, but there’s too much friction. Harry pulls out completely for a moment - an unpleasant sensation - and his finger returns with more lube. He presses a finger back inside Draco, wriggling it once it’s inside.

“What are you doing?” Draco asks.

“Doesn’t it feel good?” Harry asks.

“It feels like you’re wiggling your finger around in my arse.”

“There’s supposed to be a spot…” Harry presses his finger around a bit, and Draco winces.

“I don’t think you’ve found it.”

Harry stops the wriggling and resumes pushing in and out. Draco stop pumping his cock, but keeps his hand around it, shielding it from view. After another few moments, Harry pauses.

“Should I add a second?”

“If you want to put your cock in me, probably.”

Harry withdraws his finger, laying his hand lightly on Draco’s thigh. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!”

“Draco…”

“Merlin, Potter! Would you just go ahead and do it already?”

Harry sits back on his heels, pulling both his hands away.

“Draco. I’m not going to have sex with you when you’re calling me Potter.”

Draco let his feet slide out, his legs falling flat on either side of Harry. The pillow under his hips leaves his torso canted up at an awkward angle. “Fine. Harry.”

“I don’t think you want to do this.”

“Merlin, stop being such a Hufflepuff!”

“Do you want to do this?”

Harry is looking at him, green eyes clear and bright. Draco has never been good at lying.

“I... no.”

Harry immediately Banishes the lube, and leans forward to gently remove the pillow from under Draco’s arse. He gets off the bed, and Draco’s heart clenches, sudden and painful, but within seconds Harry is climbing back onto the bed, situating himself against the headboard.

He holds an arm out. “D’you want to cuddle?”

Normally, Draco would not put up with being asked to _cuddle_ , but in this scenario he finds that he very much does.

“You’re such a nerd,” Draco says, but scoots up the bed until he’s resting on Harry’s chest. Harry’s arms falls down around his shoulders, warm fingers brushing against his skin. “We can try again another time,” he says.

“If you want to.” Harry’s voice is soft, and Draco feels a kiss pressed to his hair.

“Will you kiss me?”

Harry smiles down at him. “Yeah.” He slides down the bed and into Draco’s arms, placing a hand on his hip. They trade slow, syrupy kisses, laying on their sides. Draco is hyper-aware of every point where they touch - his arms on Harry’s shoulders, Harry’s hands at his waist and in his hair, their knees barely brushing each other. Their lips, which meet again and again, until Draco is tilting his head to deepen the kiss, instinctively thrusting forward, and notices Harry is doing the same. Harry moans, breaking the kiss, and Draco’s hips rock forward once more before he stops himself.

“I wasn’t trying to start anything,” Harry says, voice rough. “We don’t have to-- we can still stop.”

Draco shakes his head. “No. I want you. But... nothing new?”

“Of course.” Harry nods. He leans in to Draco’s neck, and Draco tilts his head back, welcoming Harry’s mouth as it begins to explore his jawline. He pushes a leg between Harry’s thighs, groaning when Harry’s hard prick brushes up against his own, and begins a rough, rocking grind, pressing their cocks together on every press. Their movements build and build until the bed hangings are trembling, until Draco is clutching at Harry’s back, until Harry is squeezing his arse and panting against his shoulder, until the beautiful friction of Harry hot and hard against him pushes Draco over the edge, Harry cursing and following him just moments later.

“Fuck.” Harry presses a careful kiss to Draco’s collarbone, than raises his head to look Draco in the eyes. “That was amazing.”

Draco flushes, Harry’s words reminding him of what their plans for the evening were supposed to be. “You always say that.”

“It’s always true.” Harry whispers a cleaning spell, and Draco smiles in thanks.

\--

“It was a disaster, Pansy,” Draco says. Normally, this kind of phrase would be moaned while he flung himself artfully across the sofa in the Slytherin common room, but he is currently sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders curving into himself, arms crossed.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” she says, trying to soothe, and Draco looks up at her with his hair sticking up at funny angles from his fingers and his grey eyes rimmed in red.

“It _was_ ,” he tells her. “What kind of absolute twit has the chance to have sex with the _Chosen One_ and can’t go through with it?”

“You said he still wanted to, though,” Pansy points out, and Draco shakes his head roughly.

“I think he was just trying to protect my feelings”

“Draco,” Pansy says sharply. “He’s _Harry Potter_. If anyone would be a complete Hufflepuff about not being allowed to stick his fingers up your arse, it’s him.”

Draco lets out a defeated noise and falls backwards onto his bed with an audible _thwump_. “He may be a Hufflepuff about it and not blab to the whole school, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to want to keep doing other things, now does it?”

Pansy gingerly sits down next to Draco on the bed. “Well, maybe, but who knows what’s going on behind those famously unstylish glasses? If he wanted to see your skinny arse naked in the first place, I’m concerned about his judgement.” Without looking at her, Draco lifts his pillow to hit her in the face, but Pansy easily grabs it from his hands. “I thought you said it was just a bit of fun anyway.”

Draco hums. Pansy leans over him, the edges of her hair brushing his cheeks as she tilts her head and peers at him. “Draco? Did you catch feelings for The Boy Who Lived?”

He pushes her off of him, halfhearted, and sits back up. “Sod off, Pans.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Pansy…”

“Draco…”

“Maybe, alright? I don’t know,” he sighs. “It’s not like I want to carry his children and send a wedding announcement to the _Prophet_ , but it would be nice to be able to go to Hogsmeade or sit together at dinner and not worry that everyone is going to find out.” Pansy is watching him, in that steady, steely way that always makes him say more than he wants to. “He’s pleasant to spend time with, for a Gryffindor, and funny when he’s not being stupidly brave... it’s nice to talk to him. I don’t like to think that we’ll graduate, and move to different cities, and probably never see each other again.”

“Realistically, it’s highly probable that you’ll both move to London.”

Draco glares at her. “You know what I mean, Pansy.”

Pansy sighs, giving Draco a look that expresses her general exhaustion with him and flicking her hair back over her shoulder. “Yes, I do. And it seems to me that you’re sitting here, whinging about how the Chosen One doesn’t like you, when all the evidence points to the fact that he _does_ like you, quite a lot. Salazar knows I’ll need to go wash my mouth out after I say this, but Draco: you like Potter. Potter likes you. You’re already sleeping together. All you have to do is _tell_ him you like him, or ask him out on a bloody date, and he’ll probably be really disgustingly happy about it and snog you in the Great Hall.”

Draco smiles at her.

“Oh Merlin, do you actually want that? No, don’t tell me that, I don’t want to know." Pansy stands, smoothing her skirt over her thighs. “On that note, I have to go meet Luna to work on that Charms thing.” She leans in and presses a kiss to Draco’s temple, her hair once again brushing his cheek. “Talk to him, darling.”

“I will, Pans. Promise.”

\--

Weasley, Granger, and Harry are already settled in the library by the time Draco arrives for their usual Wednesday evening study session, late after his second meeting with Flitwick’s research team. Draco had been nervous for the first meeting - he knew that the professor’s confidence was one thing, but trust from the other members of the research team was another. Luckily, he didn’t know either of the other students, both Ravenclaws, and the situation on Monday had been chilly but workable. Draco had left feeling cautiously optimistic, and had even written his mother to tell her about the opportunity.

Today, however, Flitwick had been called away halfway through the session to accompany a second-year Ravenclaw who was being rushed to St. Mungo’s after an allergic reaction to a Wheezes product, and the two other eighth years had spent the remaining forty-five minutes ignoring Draco’s presence. They pretended not to hear his questions and discussed the project Flitwick had left them without him. When he finished what he’d already been working on, he’d had nothing more to do, but he knew they wanted him to give up and leave. So he’d sat there, trying to brainstorm ideas before giving up and doodling for the last twenty minutes, listening to the Ravenclaws giggle and hating himself.

He drops his bag down on the table, and it immediately falls over, a jar of ink and two notebooks spilling onto the table. All three of the Gryffindors look up, but only Harry speaks. “Draco? Is something wrong?”

He sighs, shoving the fallen objects back into his bag and sitting down hard. “Frustrating meeting. It’s fine.”

“What was the meeting about?”

He shakes his head sharply. “Not important.” Harry reaches out a hand, cupping his elbow. Draco shrugs him off. “It’s fine!” he snaps. 

Draco is leafing through his notes to find his essay outline when a high-pitched cough draws his attention. A very small, very pink first year is standing at Granger’s elbow, clutching a sheet of parchment in shaking hands.

“Please, Miss Granger,” he squeaks out, holding the page out to her, “could you a-and Mr. Weasley and Mr. P-potter sign this? It’s for my baby sister,” he adds, “for her b-birthday. She really admires you all a-and one of her babysitters was t-tortured during the war.”

The second week of classes, a sixth year asked Harry to sign her chest and Granger took her to task in the middle of the Great Hall, reminding the girl that Harry’d done what he’d done because he had to, not in pursuit of fame, and ending with a loud entreaty that everyone “focus on their school work, for fuck’s sake!” McGonagall had pretended not to hear her, and no one had fawned over the war heroes since then, that Draco had seen. He expects Granger to offer a kind but firm rebuke to this child, but before she can open her mouth, Weasley is reaching past her to grab the paper.

“Sure,” he says, and ignores it when Granger turns to glare at him, keeping his eye on the parchment as he scrawls his signature. “For your sister.”

Granger sighs, but takes the parchment when it’s handed to her, signing without looking. She pushes it across the table to Harry, who looks sheepish.

“Draco, can I borrow your quill?”

Draco sighs, but dips it in his ink and holds it out to Harry.

The boy’s voice is loud in the hush of the library. “Why are you studying with him? He was a Death Eater.”

His tablemates are still watching the boy with varying expressions of shock when Draco gets up, dropping the now-crumpled quill on the table and leaving his bag on the floor as he rushes out of the library.

Harry catches up to him halfway down the staircase.

“Draco!”

He moves faster down the stairs, but Harry is next to him, curving a gentle hand around his bicep and pulling him away from the next staircase.

“Draco, talk to me!”

Draco steps back, yanking his arm out of Harry’s grasp.

“I don’t _want_ to, Harry!”

“Draco--”

“Not now!” Draco cries. He turns and stalks away and, when Harry inevitably follows him, throws up a Silencing Charm around them before whirling to face him.

“What?”

“You’re acting like it’s not normal for me to concerned when you’re clearly upset,” Harry says. 

“It’s not,” Draco argues. His whole body feels tense. Harry looks like he wants to reach out to Draco, hands in fists at his side. “It’s not normal. Six months ago you hated me. Why do you care?”

“I didn’t hate you,” Harry says. Draco ignores him.

“I’m a _Death Eater_ , Harry. You shouldn’t want to be seen with me. Even that first year knows it.”

Harry frowns, a disappointed look on his stupid, perfect face. “You _were_ a Death Eater. I certainly hope you aren’t one still.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Semantics. You know what I mean.”

“Not just semantics.” Harry takes a cautious step forward, grabbing Draco’s hand. “What happened in your meeting?”

“Nothing.”

“Draco, I’m not an idiot. You were upset before you even got to the library.” Harry lifts Draco’s hand with both of his, gently intertwining their fingers between them. “What was the meeting?”

Draco looks down. Harry is wearing dark green plimsolls and the laces on one are about to come undone, which is unsurprising since Harry never bothers untying them to put them back onto his feet, even though they are wizards and have a spell for that.

“Flitwick asked me to do research with him on locator charms.”

“That’s great!” Harry says, squeezing Draco’s hand.

“Yes, that’s what I thought too. We had our first meeting on Monday and I thought it went well. But today he had to leave early and the other students ignored me the whole time he was gone. They’re probably upset he asked me.” Draco sighs. “I don’t blame them.”

Harry is watching him, green eyes solemn, and Draco feels the words rolling out of him. “I wouldn’t want to be stuck working with me either,” he admits. “But I was hoping it would be...I don’t know. It felt like it could be an opportunity. To do something different.”

Harry squeezes his hands again, a small smile blooming on his face. “I think it can be.” He runs one hand down the side of Draco’s face and leans in for a kiss. Draco turns his head to deflect it onto his cheek, and Harry sighs. “Now, if you’re done being dramatic, can we go back and finish studying?”

Draco scoffs and pulls away. “I don’t know if I want to study with you if you’re going to call me dramatic.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Draco, come on. I’ve got a lot of work to finish and I know you do to.”

“I think I’ll just go back to my room - I don’t feel like studying in the library tonight.”

“You always study in the library.”

“Maybe I want to do something different. Maybe I don’t feel like playing fourth wheel to the heroes of wizarding Britain.”

Harry frowns, looking disappointed. “Are you still upset about what that first year said?”

“I’m not _upset_. It was true.”

“He shouldn’t have said it like that,” Harry says. Draco quirks an eyebrow at him in question. “Like you shouldn’t have been sitting with us, or something.”

“That’s what everyone thinks,” Draco says.

Harry rubs a hand across his face. “Draco, please, can we not get into this right now?”

Draco laughs. “What is there to get into? You know I’m right. That’s why you haven’t told anyone about us.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

Draco presses his face into his hands. “Oh, Merlin. Can we just go back to the library?”

Harry’s voice is getting louder. “No, you wanted to talk, let’s talk. What do you mean that’s why I haven’t told anyone?”

“Because I was a Death Eater! Because everyone hates me, and you can do better, and I won’t have sex with you!”

Draco is almost shouting, and he clamps his mouth shut when he realizes it, wrapping his arms around his torso and staring determinedly at the wall behind Harry’s right ear. Silencing Charm or no, he still has some pride - not much, but enough - and he’ll be damned if he’s going to be found having a shouting match with Harry Potter over Draco’s inability to put out.

“You said you didn’t want me to tell anyone!” Harry is shouting now, properly. “You said you’d be embarrassed to be seen with a stupid Gryffindor!”

“You _are_ a stupid Gryffindor!”

“And you’re a stuck-up, snooty Slytherin!” Harry yells.

Draco feels the breath punched out of him. He needs to leave, needs to not be around Harry any longer. He rushes past him, back into the busier hallway, the sudden influx of noise as he exits the bounds of the _Silencio_ ringing in his ears as he books it to the library. Granger watches him oddly but says nothing as he throws his things into his bag and rushes off. He doesn’t run into Harry on his way back to his common room.

\--

It’s three days of silence from Harry, Draco slowly simmering, before he swallows his pride and walks to the Gryffindor table after dinner. Harry looks only mildly surprised when Draco taps his shoulder, distracting him from his pudding and conversation with Finnigan. He leaves with Draco without complaint, following him with a hesitant smile and promising to help Finnigan with his DADA assignment later. Draco leads them outside and around the side of the castle, to an alcove where a stone bench is halfway hidden from view by an overgrown hedge. He sits, and after a moment of what looks like indecision, Harry sits next to him.

“I think we need to talk about us,” Draco says. Harry has a small frown on his face, but says nothing. “And I owe you an apology, for the other night. Because you were right - I was upset about something else, and I shouldn’t have called you a stupid Gryffindor.”

“I shouldn’t have called you a stuck-up Slytherin,” Harry murmurs. “Even if it was right.”

“You’re insufferable,” Draco says. “I’m still mad at you, you know.”

“You should really be mad at those Ravenclaws.”

“I am mad at those Ravenclaws,” Draco says quietly. “But I don’t think they’d take it quite as well if I yelled at them.” He pauses. “I don’t regularly get naked with them, so.”

Harry huffs a laugh, but won’t meet Draco’s eyes. “What did you want to say about us?”

Draco sighs. “I know, when we started out with this, we said it was just going to be a bit of fun, but the thing is...I like you. In a more than a bit of fun way. And I don’t want to graduate and break things off and never see you again. And I was hoping you felt the same way too. But before you say anything, I also have to tell you that I don’t want to have proper sex. Ever.”

“Proper sex?”

“I don’t want you to fuck me, and I don’t want to fuck you.”

“So you want to date me, but you don’t want to have anal sex.”

“Yes.”

Harry, to Draco’s utter mortification, laughs. He flushes and wishes he had the ability to turn invisible.

“Well, if that’s how you feel about it, I’ll just be going--”

Harry grabs his arm before he can stand, shaking his head. “No, I wasn’t - I wasn’t laughing at you! That was relieved laughter, I swear.”

Draco is skeptical. “Relieved laughter?”

“Yes! We have a huge fight and don’t speak for days, and when you finally want to talk to me you say we need to talk about us?” Harry shakes his head. “Draco, I thought you were ending things.”

“Not ending things,” Draco says, “no. But what about the other thing?”

“The other?”

“Dating, but no fucking?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, I want to date you, Draco.”

“Even if we never have sex?”

“Even if we never have penetrative sex, yes,” Harry says, reaching out for Draco’s hand. “Everything else we’ve been doing has been okay?”

“Yes.” Harry brushes his lips across Draco’s knuckles, and he sighs. “More than.”

Harry smiles. “I want to see where this goes too, Draco.”

“And you’re sure about the sex?”

“Merlin, yes!” Harry says. “I want to date _you_ , Draco. If I just wanted to fuck someone, I’m sure I could find someone willing. But that’s not what I want.”

“The hoards of fans begging you to take their virginity don’t appeal?” Draco asks.

Harry kisses him, quick and sweet. “I regret ever showing you those letters. And no. I just want you.”

Harry kisses him again, and this time Draco kisses him back, wrapping his hands around Harry’s shoulders and slipping one beneath his robes to stroke at his back. “Does this mean we can tell people?” Harry asks, thumb moving in small circles against Draco’s ribs.

Draco shrugs. “If you’re ready for the hit your reputation will take. I wonder how many days we’ll be on the front page of the _Prophet_.”

“You aren’t worried?”

“My reputation can only be improved by the connection to Our Saviour, Harry, didn’t you know that’s why I’m dating you?” Harry raises an eyebrow, hands tightening on Draco’s sides, and Draco sighs. “It’ll be fine. Let me write to Mother first, just to prepare her.” Harry nods. “My friends already think we’re fucking anyway.”

Harry is leaning in to kiss him again, and pulls back, laughing. “What?”

“Well, they think it’s a joke, but I’ll treasure the looks on their faces then they find out they’ve been right all along.”

“Merlin,” Harry mutters, “you’re evil.”

“Yes, I expect that’s the line the _Prophet_ will take. Do you think they’ll suggest I’ve cursed you?”

“I don’t really care what the _Prophet_ says,” Harry whispers, as his he leans in closer, his voice going lower. “I would really love to have sex with my new boyfriend, though.”

Draco shivers all over. “I guess that would be alright,” he says, humming when Harry licks at his earlobe. “Your room?”

Harry pulls back with a pout. “Bugger. Seamus and Dean said they were planning to ‘study’ after dinner. Do you want to just make out here?”

“I’d really like to get you naked,” Draco says, and this time Harry shivers.

“Fair point. What about your room?”

“But we’ve never done it in my room.”

“But will it be open?”

“Probably, yes. Both Theo and Greg go to Slughorn’s extra help session tonight, and Blaise hates studying in the dorms.”

“Then why not? As long as you aren’t worried about someone seeing me walk through the common room.”

Draco shakes his head. “I’m not.”

As it turns out, the Slytherin common room is empty when they tumble through the door and up the stairs to Draco’s room, throwing an assortment of locking spells at the eighth years’ door before falling onto Draco’s four-poster. It is decidedly less empty when Draco walks Harry back down the stairs, his hair even messier than usual and a bruise blooming below his right ear. Pansy notices them first, jaw dropping delicately, before Blaise turns to see them as well.

The expression of shock on his face is almost unattractive. “Holy fuck, Draco. Are you actually fucking Potter?”

**Author's Note:**

> In the section that could be seen as dub-con, Harry and Draco have previously agreed to have anal sex. While Harry is preparing Draco, Draco is uncomfortable but verbally tells Harry to keep going. Harry does so, but quickly notices Draco’s discomfort and stops completely. They later have completely consensual non-penetrative sex. If you’d prefer not to read this part, stop at _“Wait,” he says, “I’m too close. If you still want me to…”_ and resume reading at _He holds an arm out. “D’you want to cuddle?”_
> 
> Consent Note: I was excited about this prompt - “HD are in a relationship and one of them decides that no, actually, that sexual activity I agreed to try is not ok” - because it’s something I’ve so rarely seen happen in fic. I wanted to set it during 8th year and have Harry and Draco be in their first sexual relationship to address the misconception that not consenting to X activity makes one undesirable. Even if we know that it’s okay to say no, etc., actually communicating during sex can be difficult especially if you are less experienced, which is something I wanted to touch on. I also wanted to address how the power imbalance in Harry and Draco’s relationship impacts their dynamic and conversations around consent, and to show ways in which they already communicate about sexual consent but still have room to improve communication about their relationship in general.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to leave a comment if you are so inclined :) Find me on tumblr @violetclarity.


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